A Matter of Priorities
by Grumpr
Summary: May, 1943. The entire school is afire with rumours about the mysterious attacks and their relation to the Chamber of Secrets, but Lucretia and Walburga Black have rather more important matters on their mind—such as skipping their dreadfully dull Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson to smoke in the second-floor lavatory. If only that upstart Tom Riddle would stop trying to barge in.


**A Matter of Priorities**

**Synopsis**: May, 1943. The entire school is afire with rumours about the mysterious attacks and their relation to the Chamber of Secrets, but Lucretia and Walburga Black have rather more important matters on their mind—such as skipping their dreadfully dull Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson to smoke in the second-floor lavatory. If only that upstart Tom Riddle would stop trying to barge in.

For **toujourspur12**, who asked for Walburga and Lucretia.

* * *

**Late May, 1943**

* * *

Lucretia had never seen Horace Slughorn look so downcast before.

Watching her old Potions master make his way down the Great Hall back to the High Table, it was hard not to feel pity for him. Professor Slughorn always had a certain energy about him, an enthusiasm and an enjoyment of life's little pleasures—but this morning his gingery-blond moustache drooped sadly and his usually shiny hair seemed dull and flat. There was a worried air about him, as with the rest of the staff—these attacks were putting everyone on edge.

Well, nearly everyone.

"I can't believe they're cancelling the Slug Club party just because some Mudbloods are upset."

Lucretia Black lifted her eyebrows, amused at her best friend's outrage. "I thought just yesterday you were saying you wanted to skip it, Burgie?" she said innocently.

Walburga shot her an annoyed look, tossing her braided hair over her shoulder in a haughty gesture. "It's about the principle of the thing—why should we be denied our suppers?"

"It's not just the Slug Club," interjected Orion quietly, seated across from them at the long table. "The Duelling Club is cancelled too, as are all other gatherings aside from lessons. Most of the students are too nervous to attend anyway, I suppose."

Another glance at the staff table showed their Head of house staring glumly at his breakfast, seated amongst other grave-faced teachers.

"Poor old Sluggy," sighed Lucretia. "He does so love his little suppers."

"It's a shame about the party," said Orion.

Lucretia gave him a curious look—her little brother sounded rather more put out about it than she would've expected. "Why so glum, 'Rion? It's not like third years would have been invited anyway."

At this, her brother actually seemed to blush, darting a glance at Walburga—who was taking a sip of pumpkin juice and seemed oblivious to her cousin's attention.

"Professor Slughorn mentioned that third-year students could attend if an older student brought them as a guest," mumbled Orion, now very interested in the sausage on his plate.

Lucretia hid a smile. So that was why her little brother always seemed to want to spend time with them. She wondered if Burgie had any idea about her brother's affections—somehow she doubted it.

"I still think they should've let him continue," sniffed Walburga. "It's not like there were going to be many Mudbloods invited, aside from that Riddle boy."

"Oh, there's that Gryffindor girl too, isn't there?" said Lucretia. "Whitby? Whiskers? Something of the sort—Sluggy was raving about her Arithmancy essays."

Walburga made a face.

"Riddle isn't a Mudblood either," added Orion, before she could respond.

Lucretia glanced over at him. "How do you know?"

As far as she was aware, the fifth-year Prefect was a Muggle-raised orphan, which already said quite enough all on its own.

"Alphie told me the boys in his year said Riddle's told them his mother was a witch—and besides, he has to have wizarding blood in him somewhere, with his talents."

Lucretia shrugged. "I suppose so."

"He's an upstart, that's what he is," said Walburga waspishly. "It's ridiculous how all those boys are fawning over him."

This, at least, they could all agree on. None of the Black cousins had ever been much charmed by Tom Riddle, viewing most people—let alone Muggle-raised orphans—as far beneath them. That some of their housemates should admire him so had only inspired further disdain.

Lucretia helped herself to some more toast, her mind turning back to what she'd been about to ask before Slughorn had come by to tell them the sad news.

"Did you bring the potion?" she asked Walburga.

"Of course," sniffed her cousin. "If I have to sit through another one of that woman's lessons..."

"You're not planning on skipping lessons again?" said Orion, frowning disapprovingly at them. "Lucy, you oughtn't."

Lucretia tutted. "Don't be such a scold, 'Rion."

"You know what Papa said last time, he'll be so cross when he finds out."

"Well, then I suppose we'll just have to make sure Papa never finds out, won't we?"

"_Lucy—_"

"If you're going to be like this, 'Rion, you can go sit with Alphie and Cyg over there," said Walburga, annoyed.

Orion frowned at the two older girls, still looking like he wanted to say something. "But—"

"Off you go, 'Rion," said Lucretia, waving him in the direction of their cousins.

He stared at her for a moment, and then—with a somewhat hurt look, although still disapproving—he rose from his seat and took his school bag to move further down the table to sit with Cygnus and Alphard.

"Anyway," said Lucretia, as soon as her brother was out of earshot. "You're certain the potion will work?"

"Of course," said Walburga haughtily. "I brewed it myself."

"How long will it give us?"

"Long enough to make it outside without Merrythought being any the wiser."

Lucretia smiled. "Excellent."

Defence Against the Dark Arts truly had become dreadfully dull in the last few weeks.

**oOo**

Professor Merrythought hadn't even finished taking the register when Walburga handed Lucretia the small, crystal vial she had smuggled in with her.

"One small sip," whispered her friend—although Lucretia doubted the ancient Professor would hear her even if she spoke in more normal tones: Professor Galatea Merrythought had been teaching for close to fifty years now and had grown increasingly deaf in the last decade.

Walburga and Lucretia had been careful to claim seats near the front of the classroom today—they usually preferred to sit in the back row, but they were trying to be well visible this time.

As Professor Merrythought turned her back to write today's topic on the Blackboard, Lucretia took a quick sip and passed the vial back to Walburga, who drank as well.

Reading the topic announced on the blackboard, Lucretia knew they had made an excellent choice to skip this particular lesson. Another morning spent on different counter spells? Lucretia had learned quite enough about them already. Why should she have to suffer just because some of the other students were slow on the—

_Oh_.

The potion sure worked quickly, didn't it?

Already she felt lightheaded, her mouth strangely dry. A glance to her left told her that Walburga was looking rather pale too. Perfect. She nodded at Burgie to continue with their plan.

"Excuse me, Professor?" said Walburga, loud enough to get Professor Merrythought's attention. "I don't feel so well, may I be excused?"

Professor Merrythought stared at her, looking a little taken aback. "You're feeling unwell, Miss Black?"

"Oh, yes, Professor, very lightheaded, I think I should lie down for a bit."

"She's really pale, Professor Merrythought," added Lucretia, in a perfectly concerned voice. "Perhaps I ought to take her to the hospital wing?"

Now a hint of suspicion crept into the old Professor's eyes. She wasn't an unkind woman, but this was far from the first time Lucretia and Walburga had left the lesson early for various reasons, or—until a letter had been sent home to their respective parents informing them of their daughter's truancy—failed to show up to the classroom altogether.

"I'm not certain—" started Professor Merrythought, looking at Lucretia, who risked interrupting her.

"Actually, Professor, the thing is that I don't feel so well either," said Lucretia, giving a wan smile.

"Both of you?" said Professor Merrythought doubtfully. "At the same time?"

"Must've been the eggs at breakfast," suggested Walburga.

Someone sniggered behind them—Lucretia suppressed the urge to turn around in her seat and snap at them to shut up, lest they ruin everything.

The sound—apparently loud enough to be heard, curse it all—seemed to confirm to Professor Merrythought that some scheme was afoot. She drew herself up to her full length, clasping her hands behind her back.

"I think you can survive one more lesson, girls," she said sternly.

Now quite dizzy, Lucretia pushed to her feet. She wobbled something fierce, catching herself on the desk before she fell over and bringing a hand up to hold her head.

"Really, Professor," said Walburga, "I think we should see the matron. We might've eaten something bad."

"Oh, I think I might faint," said Lucretia—partly to lend weight to her cousin's words and partly because she knew there was a very real possibility of such a thing occurring in the next few minutes if they didn't get the antidote.

"Oh my—yes, I see now—" said a flustered Professor Merrythought, clearly realising that the two girls in front of her—although notorious rebels—were not lying about their physical condition.

The old bat probably even felt guilty for mistrusting them, thought Lucretia fondly.

"Perhaps I should come with you myself—what with all these attacks..."

Any fondness Lucretia felt for the old Professor faded away at once. She shared an alarmed look with her cousin.

"Really, Professor," she protested, "we'll be fine, there's no need for you to go out of your way..."

"Nonsense, Miss Black, you shouldn't wander the corridors alone in your condition—"

"I can take them, Professor," said a deep voice behind them.

They turned to find Lesath Lestrange had stood up from his seat at the back of the room.

"Lestrange?" Professor Merrythought seemed taken aback at the offer of help from such an unexpected source.

"I'll see both girls safely to the hospital wing, Professor," said the young man firmly. "You wouldn't have to concern yourself about leaving the class unattended—and you could continue the lesson."

"Well, I suppose... yes, that would be rather more convenient..."

After one last, brief moment of hesitation Professor Merrythought turned to Walburga and Lucretia. "Mr Lestrange here will accompany you to the hospital wing—get well soon, girls."

With a quick "Thank you, Professor," both girls turned to Lestrange, who gallantly offered them both his arm. Turned away as she was from the Professor, Walburga didn't hide her eye-roll, but both of them accepted his offer.

Leaning heavily on the boy between them, they slowly made their way out of the classroom, still very unsteady.

"So are you actually ill, or—?" asked Lestrange under his breath the instant the door fell shut behind them.

"Not here!" hissed Walburga. "And of course not."

Lestrange laughed quietly, but kept them moving along until they had turned the first corner and Walburga said, "That's far enough, Lesath. Give me my bag."

Lucretia leaned heavily against the wall, closing her eyes to stave off the growing lightheadedness. "Hurry up, Burgie," she muttered. "We're cutting it close."

"We should still have a minute or so," said Walburga. "Ah, there it is. Here, Lucy, chew this."

She pressed some of the Mugwort in Lucretia's hands, and Lucretia quickly obeyed her friend.

When the juices of the plant came free on her tongue, her head became clearer at once, and as she kept chewing, her legs grew firm again. She opened her eyes to find their classmate watching them in amusement.

"Mugwort?" asked Lestrange.

"And a Fainting Draught," said Walburga, a satisfied look on her face as she recovered. "It worked quite well, I'd say."

Lestrange whistled. "That's a neat trick."

"The teachers are getting so suspicious these days," sighed Lucretia.

"Well, you two do keep skiving off," said Lestrange, amused.

The girls rolled their eyes.

"I can't believe Merrythought actually planned to escort us all the way to the hospital wing," said Lucretia, shaking her head. "Everyone in this school is _so_ upset lately."

"It's ridiculous," agreed Walburga.

Lestrange smiled, an odd glint in his eye. "There _have_ been four attacks."

"All Mudbloods," scoffed Walburga. "What do we have to fear? Our blood is as pure as anyone's."

"Fair enough," said Lestrange with a shrug, but there was something in his wry smile that made it seem as though he knew more than them.

Burgie—never able to bear the thought of people mocking her—visibly bristled.

"What are you even still doing here, Lesath?" said Walburga, annoyed. "Off with you."

"So harsh," drawled Lestrange. "Is this all the thanks I get for helping you girls?"

"_Please_—you only stepped in because you thought it would get you a free period too."

"I'm hurt you think so little of me, Burgie, truly hurt," said Lestrange, pressing a hand to his chest. "Admit it, you'd have been in trouble if Merrythought had come with you."

"I will admit nothing of the sort," said Walburga haughtily.

"Cold as always," laughed Lestrange. "Well, then let me say this—" he took Walburga's hand and bowed to press a kiss to the back of it. "—it was my pleasure."

Walburga snatched back her hand the moment Lestrange let go of it, but the boldness of the act had quite left her too flustered for a quick retort.

Lestrange smirked. "I'll leave you two then, Burgie, Lucy." He nodded at her. "I'll see you in Potions this afternoon." And with that he walked off, disappearing from view as he turned the corner.

"Impudent boy," muttered Walburga, still clutching her hand to her chest.

"Very brazen," agreed Lucretia, eyeing her curiously.

Walburga noticed, and blushed harder. "What?" she snapped.

"Oh—it's nothing, dear."

"If you have something to say, just spit it out."

"I didn't say anything," said Lucretia innocently. "Shall we get going?"

Walburga eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then sniffed. "Very well."

They picked up their bags and set off.

"You know I would never presume to judge you, dear," said Lucretia, linking arms with her as they walked. "It's just—why Lestrange? You could do so much better."

"_Lucy!_"

Lucretia laughed, but at the look on her friend's face decided to change the subject. "Don't be cross, Burgie—I shan't mention it again."

"You're a poor liar, Lucretia Black."

**oOo**

During the course of their school years, Lucretia and Walburga had quickly realised that in many ways the girls' lavatory on the second floor was the perfect place to sneak away to when one was skipping lessons.

For one, it was far enough away from the main classrooms, so there weren't all that many girls using the place. It being a lavatory had certain advantages too, as the chances of being caught skiving by some member of staff or a Prefect—especially of the male variety—were much smaller here than if they'd wandered the corridors or gone back to the Slytherin common room. Here, there was no one to dock points or give them detention, or worse—lecture them.

All of these reasons meant that the second-floor lavatory was Lucretia and Walburga's favourite spot to spend their unsanctioned free periods.

It was also—they discovered as they entered—not entirely deserted at present.

At the very back of the row of cubicles, a younger girl had just exited one, rubbing her tear-stained face. She must've been in her third or second year, a somewhat plump girl with lank, dark hair and most of her face obscured by a truly awful pair of pearly glasses.

She started when she saw Lucretia and Walburga, hesitating as if about to flee back into the cubicle.

Now that wouldn't do at all.

"Why, hello there, darling," said Lucretia, keeping her voice friendly as she stepped closer. She felt Walburga shoot her a curious look, but ignored her for the moment.

"Hullo," said the girl. Her voice trembled a little, although she was making a valiant effort to wipe away the evidence of her crying.

"What are you doing here, sweetheart?"

The girl's face turned suspicious as Lucretia came even closer, careful to give the girl plenty of space should she feel like running away. Walburga followed her lead, apparently content to let her handle this on her own for now.

"You're just going to mock me," said the girl, sniffling. "Everyone always does."

"Not at all, darling," reassured Lucretia. She took another step, so that she was now leaning against the stone sink. "I'm just curious as to why you're crying here."

The girl shot her a suspicious look, but she seemed eager to share the tale of her misery. "It's _awful_," she said dramatically—Lucretia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Olive Hornby said that my spots were ugly and that no boy would ever like me."

The girl's spots _were_ rather prominent, once one got over those hideous spectacles.

"Yes, dear, but why are you here?" asked Lucretia patiently. "Can't you cry about it in some other lavatory?"

The girl stared at her for a moment, eyes almost comically wide behind her thick glasses as realisation dawned on her that the girls in front of her were not as sympathetic to her plight as she'd hoped. Her eyes filled with fresh tears and she turned on her heel and fled.

"You could've just threatened to hex her," sniffed Walburga, waving her wand wordlessly to slam the door shut behind the fleeing girl.

Lucretia shrugged elegantly. "She seemed so timid—I thought she might lock herself in that cubicle if I drew my wand on her. It would've been such a bother to get her out."

Walburga frowned, but conceded the point.

With their unwanted guest chased off, the two girls set about making themselves comfortable. Walburga—always the best at transfiguration out of the two of them—changed two steps stools by the stone sinks into comfortable stools for them to sit on, while Lucretia searched in her bag for the cigarette case. Flicking it open with her thumb, she offered it to her cousin.

They lit the tips with their wands and sat back, leaning against the stone wall and taking a deep drag from their cigarettes.

"Do you think that was the Warren girl 'Rion told us about last week?" Lucretia mused aloud. "The one who ran out of Herbology crying?"

"'Rion said that?"

"Mm, when we were all sitting together last Thursday. You told him to go bother Alphie instead."

"I don't remember that," said Walburga, taking a deep drag from her cigarette and blowing out a perfect ring of smoke.

Lucretia smiled. "You know, I rather think my brother fancies you, Burgie."

"Really?" asked Walburga. "'Rion?"

"Yes, it's quite adorable, really."

Walburga sniffed, "Well, he'd better get used to disappointment on that front, hadn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Lucretia, unconcerned. "Although of course your parents seem quite keen on the match."

Walburga's face darkened. "I'm not marrying that little twerp."

"He is quite small, isn't he?"

"He's also the most uptight, dull—"

Walburga broke off abruptly when the door opened, and in walked Tom Riddle, fifth-year Prefect for Slytherin and an unbearable upstart.

Riddle paused as he saw them sitting by the sinks, clearly not having expected to find anyone in the lavatory. The girls—who had tensed the moment they heard the door—now relaxed again, shooting him looks of annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" asked Riddle. "Your year doesn't have a free period today."

Walburga sneered. "What are _you_ doing here?" This is a girls' lavatory, Riddle. Get lost."

But the Prefect refused to leave.

"Aren't you concerned about being attacked?" asked Riddle lightly after another pause. "Most people prefer to stay in the common room."

Both girls rolled their eyes.

"Our family have been wizards since before the 11th century, Riddle," drawled Lucretia. "I _highly_ doubt the heir of Slytherin will be very interested in purging _us_."

"Perhaps you should be more worried about yourself," added Walburga off-handedly, "what with _your_ parentage."

The insult—so casually delivered—seemed to land, as a look of anger passed over the boy's admittedly handsome face before he could rein it in.

"My mother was a witch, Black."

Walburga sneered. "So you say."

Riddle's nostrils flared. His eyes focused on the cigarettes both girls still elegantly held between their fingers.

"You do realise that smoking on school grounds is prohibited," he said, annoyed.

Lucretia laughed. "Oh, did you hear that, Burgie? Apparently we're breaking the rules."

Walburga took a long, defiant drag from her cigarette. "What are you going to do, Riddle, take points?"

"Perhaps," said Riddle. "Or I could report you to Professor Slughorn."

"Oh, get stuffed, Riddle."

"Why don't you go back to your cronies and leave us alone."

Walburga flicked her wand and shot a Stinging Hex at him. Riddle's eyes went wide, but he side-stepped the white flash well enough and had his own wand out in the next moment.

That was the annoying thing about Riddle, wasn't it? Despite his Muggle background, he was extraordinarily talented. Slughorn had been interested in him for more than just his charm. Walburga was the most magically powerful witch Lucretia knew, but if it should come to a duel between the two, she wasn't sure on whom she would place her bet.

For a brief moment, as Riddle looked at them with his wand drawn, Lucretia felt a tinge of unease.

There had been... rumours about Riddle over the years. Whispers—about the Jenkins boy that had ended up in the hospital wing for two weeks last year, and they'd never been able to find out who cursed him. Alphie had heard some boys in his year talk about Riddle practising Dark Magic, too...

Lucretia pushed the feeling down. It was ridiculous—they had nothing to fear from some boy a year younger than them.

Fortunately, Riddle at last seemed to take the hint.

Annoyance flickered across the younger boy's face as he stared at the two of them through narrowed eyes for a moment longer. The Black cousins gave him haughty looks in return. Finally, Riddle turned on his heel and left without another word.

"Good riddance," muttered Walburga. "Impudent upstart."

"Such a horrid boy," sighed Lucretia. "That's the third time he's tried to come into this loo while we were here, too."

"Pervert," agreed Walburga.

Lucretia hummed. She took another drag from her cigarette, relaxing again.

"Should we tell Sluggy?" she mused.

They considered it for a moment, quietly smoking their cigarettes. The smoke swirled around them, getting thicker until Walburga waved her wand, annoyed, to disperse it.

Riddle honestly shouldn't be trying to get into the girls' lavatory—and he was probably skipping lessons much like them to be here at this hour. It would be satisfying to point out to Professor Slughorn that his dear Tom was getting up to no good, but much like Tom Riddle reporting them, it was unlikely to provoke more than a mild scolding or a detention for show. Slughorn disliked punishing his favourites.

And—perhaps more importantly—reporting Riddle would mean admitting to their own rule-breaking.

After a minute, Walburga let out a long sigh. "He's hardly worth the trouble."

Lucretia hummed in agreement. After all, they had better things to think about.

"So what exactly is going on with you and Lestrange?"

* * *

**A/N**: This fic is partly based on, and partly goes along with, toujourspur12's stunning art of a young Lucretia and Walburga (this fic's cover image, the full sized work is on tumblr). It also draws quite heavily from the characterisation of the Black cousins in izzythehutt's The Black Sheep Dog series. In fact, this is probably BSDU fic as much as it is HP fic.

I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please make my day by leaving a review. :)


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